


The Courting of a Wolf

by LadyMerlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Un)helpful Friends, But so is Stiles, Confusion, Derek is a Failwolf, Drama, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings, Pining, Plotting, Seduction Strategy, Self-Esteem Issues, Trope Alert, UST, Unconventional courtship, Wooing, cliches, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:02:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or; The One in which Trial-and-Error is nearly The Death of Stiles Stilinski, and if He never has to ask his Pack for Romantic Advice Again, it’d be Too Soon.</p><p>Stiles swears to God, once it's all over, that even though he loves his pack (bless their dim hearts), he is <i>never</i> going to ask for their help, <i>ever</i> again - it could all have gone so very wrong... Besides, no one knows Derek like he does (not even Peter, thanks), and it's only obvious in hindsight that he'd know <i>best</i> how to Court his Wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Courting of a Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reptilianraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianraven/gifts).



> Dear Actualbird,
> 
> You mentioned that your prompts are cliche as f*ck, but I'm just glad that we got matched up, because I'm cliche as f*ck too, and I just hope you like the monstrosity that this fic turned into. Happy non-denominational holiday of your choice, and a Happy New Year!
> 
> Love,  
> Your thus-far Anonymous Giver
> 
> Sincere thanks to my amazing beta, [jessa_anna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jessa_anna/profile), with lots of love. Any mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone.

“No, Stiles, you need to show him that you’re _serious_.”

Stiles whined high in his throat, feeling pathetic and knowing he sounded it too. He was lying on his bed with his face pressed into a pillow, surrounded by Lydia, Allison and Scott; the only three who would entertain him when he got like this.

“This has gone on long enough, and I don’t have the patience for your awkward nerdy courtship bullshit anymore. Casual won’t cut it, Stiles, not with Derek,” Lydia said, filing her nails with careless precision, not even bothering to look up at him (where had she even got a nail file from?). “He’s as emotionally clueless as you are, and you need to make it very clear that you’re interested in more than a casual fuck.”

Stiles made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut at the thought of fucking Derek, and Scott reached out to absently stroke his hair in comfort. “He’s just so fucking cute, I wanna kiss his dumb face and tell him I think he’s really fucking cute and hold his fucking hand, _it’s not supposed to be this hard_.” Stiles whined again, because after _all_ the things, the murders and the monsters and the seriously scary assorted shit that had gone down in Beacon Hills, _this_ was the most unbearable part.

That he was so fucking _gone_ for someone who probably hadn’t even noticed Stiles’ perpetual heart-boner, who probably didn’t even think of Stiles as a sexual creature. It wasn’t fair that after _all that,_ he’d gone and fallen in love with Derek. Lydia, the unsympathetic witch, smacked him across the shoulder. He moaned piteously, and both Scott and Allison stroked his hair.

“Why is it so difficult?” he asked, and he really wanted to know. Why couldn’t his life have been a rom-com instead of a B-rated horror movie? The sidekick _never_ got the girl in the horror movie. The sidekick was lucky if he _survived_. At least in a rom-com he could have _potentially_ got the girl. Or the boy, as things stood. The man. Derek. He really wanted Derek, _God._

“All good things are difficult, you idiot. Why do you think I put up with Jackson?”

There was a beat of silence. “I’ve been meaning to ask you that, actually,” Scott ventured, and Stiles cackled because he was secretly five years old. Lydia rapped Scott across the knuckles with her nail file, but didn’t say anything else, because it wasn’t easy to get over a lifetime of hating Jackson Whittemore, and some jokes were just too easy.

“Because at the end of a full day of his macho posturing nonsense and him acting like he’s God’s gift to women, he gets me off better and more effectively than anything or anyone else ever could. Those kinds of orgasms are _totally_ worth being patient for.”

There was a beat of horrified silence, which they had admittedly brought upon themselves, and Scott broke it first, covering his ears and screwing his eyes shut as if it would cancel out the memory of the words he’d just heard. Stiles pretended to gag while Allison made considering noises, and Lydia laughed, not a little meanly. They should have known better than to make fun of Jackson in her presence. Only she was allowed to make fun of Jackson.

“So I guess the question is, do you want Derek’s dick?” she asked, when Scott had finally opened his eyes. He moaned and smashed his face into Stiles’ lower back (making Stiles wheeze like an eighty year old asthmatic), and dropped his book over the back of his head.

“Can we not talk about Derek’s dick, please?” he asked, and everyone ignored him.

Stiles turned to face Lydia, one cheek pressed into his pillow and hair all over the place, epic eye-bags on display and lips curled into a frown. “I want so much more than his dick, Lydia. I want _everything_. I want his mornings and his nights and every single second in between. I want _everything_ from Derek, everything _of_ Derek’s, and it’s making me crazy.”

“I know,” she replied, only a little more gently, “but Stiles, _you_ have to know it won’t be easy.” Stiles could feel her gearing up for her conclusion, so he kept his mouth shut and nodded, because _duh_. Nothing about Derek had ever been easy. “So work for it, Stiles. Show him that you’re dead serious about wanting the good, the bad, and the ugly. Woo him and sweep him off his feet, so he can’t think of anything but you. Make him feel loved and cherished and _important_ to you.”

“Easier said than done, right?” he asked, and met her eyes solidly, unflinching in the face of her heavy gaze. They both knew, even if no one else did, that there was more between Derek and Stiles than simple sexual tension. If he went ahead with it, there would be no turning back. And somehow, despite his relative inexperience with committed relationships, Stiles was unafraid of the prospect of forever. There was something about Derek that _felt_ right, and trusting his gut had worked out well for Stiles so far. It _had_ to be a good sign that Derek made him feel safe.

“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked, eventually, when he had come to terms with the magnitude of the task ahead of him.

Scott closed his book, obviously eager to procrastinate. “Keep it simple,” he suggested, with the straight-forwardness of someone who’d never really had to work for it. “Ask him out on a date. Nothing heavy, just dinner and ice-cream. Something that you already do together, but with a different intent. Sometimes Allison asks me out, and it feels really good to know she’s interested enough to initiate things, even if it’s just watching a movie together at home.” Allison cooed at him, displaying her absolutely _adorable_ dimples, and Scott smiled back. God, their babies would be _gorgeous._

It was a sound suggestion, so Stiles nodded. He would ask Derek out on a date first; just the two of them, maybe dinner and a film. It’d be a nice start.

❧❧❧❧

“So, Derek.” Stiles knew he sounded more nervous than he usually was with the man he’d become friends with over the past half-decade. “You free Friday night?”

Derek looked up from his own textbook, a tome on architectural history, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Stiles swallowed back a wave of animal lust in response to Derek’s dumb nerdy glasses on his _stupid_ perfect face and hoped against all hope that Derek couldn’t smell the want on him.

“My last assignment for this term is due on Friday afternoon, so I guess so. What’s up?” he asked, still not looking away from Stiles. Stiles gulped again. Derek looked a little wary, and his eyes lingered on the line of Stiles’ throat, but that made no sense because Stiles wasn’t even remotely a threat to Derek; there was no reason for him to be carrying out a threat assessment.

Stiles cleared his throat and licked his lips, gathering his courage. Derek’s gaze was sharp on him from behind his glasses. “I was wondering if you wanted to come watch a movie with me at that old outdoor cinema? They’re screening _Casablanca_ , and I thought I’d pack a picnic and we could make an evening of it? If you wanted to, I mean.” It took actual physical effort to bite back the nervous babbling, but he really wanted Derek to know he was serious. Stiles had had _enough_ of the dithering and the constant self-doubt. Either Derek liked him, and they went on a date, or he didn’t, and they remained friends. He had to know for once because the pining was making him _crazy_. 

There was a moment of intense scrutiny, in which Derek studied him as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Stiles to rescind his invitation or laugh in Derek’s face if he said yes. The thought hurt more than Stiles had expected it to, but the moment passed, and Derek ducked his head, looking _adorably_ shy. It was all Stiles could do to not to grab Derek and kiss him until he blushed underneath his beard, and _oh_ he wanted that so badly he could feel it _aching_ beneath his skin, but – “Yeah, that sounds great Stiles. Can I pick you up before it starts?”

Stiles beamed, heart pounding in relief. “Yeah, it starts at eight, so maybe meet me at seven at my place?” he asked, and Derek nodded. He dropped a tentative hand on Derek’s shoulder on his way out of the room, longing for the sensation of Derek’s warm skin under his fingers, even though he wasn’t brave enough to find out how Derek had reacted to his touch.

Everything would have been _fine_ if Erica hadn’t bounded in at just that point.

“Are you picking up the tickets for the movie?” she asked Stiles, who nodded instinctively, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights. “Awesome! Me and Boyd will be able to make it too, so pick up a pair for us? We’ll pay you back later. I call shotgun in the Camaro!” She bounded out of the room, Hurricane Erica, devastating fumbling attempts at romance since 2015.

He turned to look at Derek, who looked a little blank, and Stiles _hated_ that expression on Derek’s face, the one that made it look like he was hiding all his vulnerabilities from the world. He opened his mouth to apologize, and some of his own shock must have shown in his gaping mouth because Derek’s eyes softened. “Don’t worry, Stiles. It’s pack. It happens.”

Derek went back to his book, and Stiles recognized the end of their _moment_. He could have _killed_ Erica. Even though the evening was very enjoyable, it had not been the kind of date he’d been aiming for. He’d have to move on to Plan B.

❧❧❧❧

Lydia opened the door, and Stiles whined at her from the porch. Scott sighed from beside him, where he was holding Stiles upright by sheer force of will, keeping his best friend half draped over his own shoulders. “He’s been like this since Friday night. Help.” Lydia heaved a sigh and let them in. Danny was sprawled on the couch beside Jackson. Stiles flopped onto the corner seat and curled into a ball to sulk.

“You’re such a _child_ ,” Lydia sighed again. “Aren’t you always telling Derek to use his words? What about using yours?” she demanded.

Stiles scowled, but spoke instead of whining because he totally _could_ be an adult, no matter what Lydia said. “Erica and Boyd date-crashed on Friday. She even sat with Derek in the front of the car!” He loved Erica, of course he did; she was his pack-sister and a friend even before they’d settled into their various roles within the pack. But if she hadn’t been his pack-sister that day, there might have been some serious maimage. For thirty seconds, he’d actually thought things would work out, but they never did, not for him.

Lydia winced, and Danny perked up, looking suddenly interested. “Did you finally ask Derek out?”

Still scowling, Stiles replied, “I tried to. Didn’t work.”

“Damn,” Danny sounded genuinely sympathetic. “That sucks, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “But she didn’t mean to do it, so I can’t even be properly mad at her.” Danny nodded sagely, as if he understood the hardship of forgiving idiotic friends for their transgressions. Which, to be fair, he probably did, because Jackson.

“I don’t know what I can do next. I’m plenty romantic, I think,” Stiles said over Jackson’s ugly snorting, “but I don’t know how to show it. I don’t know how to ‘woo’ him,” he confessed, looking at Lydia, because the rest of them were unlikely to be any help. Danny might have had some advice, but he didn’t think Danny had ever had to work for anyone’s attention in his life, so his tips probably wouldn’t work for Stiles.

“You two hang out all the time, right?” Danny asked, after a thoughtful pause. Stiles turned to look at him. “Look, you’re already good friends. I’d say you were _best_ friends, if not for Scott over here. Be his friend, and then use your words and ask if he wants something more.”

“Go over to his place, pack a thermos of coffee or something, and take him on a walk. It should appeal to his inner nature lover, and it should give you some time away from the pack. Maybe take him to that clearing on the other side of Maddie’s Creek. It’s beautiful up there and secluded as fuck. Talk to him and ask him if he’s as into you are you are into him. You could even enjoy the clearing Twilight-style,” he finished, grinning suggestively.

Stiles rolled his eyes but considered the suggestion all the same. It sounded good, even though he couldn’t imagine what kind of excuses he’d have to come up with to get Derek to go with him. Still, it wasn’t like he had any better ideas himself.

❧❧❧❧

“Hey Derek, you doing anything today?” Derek looked up from his computer screen, where he was playing Spider Solitaire. It had been _years_ since Stiles had been bored enough to play Spider Solitaire, so he was pretty confident that Derek was free. Sure enough, Derek nodded and closed his laptop lid.

“What’s up?” he asked, accepting a cup of coffee from Stiles, made just the way he liked it. He took a sip and made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Stiles shivered at the almost-tangible rumble and did his best to not wonder what it would feel like against his skin.

“Nothing much. Deaton told me about some weeds growing in the forest, and he told me to get them, even though it’ll probably take me all day. I could do with the company though, and I was hoping, well...” Stiles knew he wasn’t always the most eloquent person, but that had been sad, even for him. Still, Derek was one of his best friends. Hopefully he understood what Stiles was trying to say, even though he failed to put together a logical sentence.

Derek smiled. “Sure, I’ll just get my boots on.”

“Take your time, dude, there’s no deadline. It’s a nice day, and we haven’t had much of a chance to hang out recently. I’ve missed you.” Judging by the way Derek leaned back into his armchair and relaxed, it had been the right thing to say. Stiles beamed at him, and they sat there for a while, slouched into their respective chairs, blissfully relaxed.

Definitely more so than that time Lydia had dragged him to a couples’ spa because Jackson had flat out refused to accompany her. Jackson had apparently had the right idea, because it had been a truly terrifying experience, and that was coming from someone who’d faced countless things-that-went-bump-in-the-night. Derek laughed when Stiles told him the story, but something bright dimmed from his eyes, and Stiles couldn’t figure out what he’d said wrong.

Still, as they were walking through the forest barely half an hour later, the tension had seeped from Derek’s shoulders, and it felt like everything had all been forgiven and forgotten. He was genuinely delighted to be out there with Derek, who was a fantastic walking companion. He was quieter than Stiles, no doubt about that, but he _listened_ to Stiles in a way even his own father didn’t sometimes, and he never made Stiles feel uncomfortable about monologuing. It actually felt like Derek preferred Stiles talking, and Stiles set himself a challenge to make Derek laugh as many times as possible by saying the most ridiculous things. Derek’s laughter was infectious, and _breath-taking_.

They reached the clearing with no trouble, but that’s when it all went to hell.

They’d barely been enjoying the idyllic sunshine for ten minutes when the bushes around the clearing uprooted and flung themselves at Stiles, who did _not_ scream like a prepubescent child. He did _not_.

Derek leapt into action immediately, and ripped Stiles away from the tangle of roots and branches that had been snaking into the sleeves of his hoodie and up his pants legs. He shoved Stiles behind himself, physically shielding him from the slowly advancing bushes (???). One hand wrapped in a vice grip around Stiles’ wrist, keeping him in place. Stiles growled at the immobility, but Derek didn’t let up at all. “How the _hell_ do you fight trees?” he demanded, wolfing out a little bit and snarling at the apparently sentient plants. They didn’t even falter.

Derek’s fingers around Stiles’ wrist remained completely human, even though the rest of him was wolfed out. Something deep inside Stiles solidified, and an idea crystallized. He took a deep breath. “Derek, let me up.” Neither of them was going to like this, not at _all,_ but it had to be done.

Derek snarled at him, “They want you! Stay behind me, idiot!”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I also know how to fight them, and I need you at my back.”

Derek eased up, and suddenly Stiles was able to move, so he did. Deaton, after much badgering and persuasion, had agreed to teach Stiles offensive spells on the condition that they would be taught outside the office. Thankfully, Stiles had taken to magic as easily as he had taken to talking, and really, it was the only thing he could think of in the face of sinister overgrown shrubbery. He just hated how it was going to affect Derek, who still looked like he wanted to flee the room when someone lit birthday candles.

“Stay behind me, Derek,” Stiles said, and put up his hands. The bushes moved like they’d been propelled into action because of Stiles’ proximity. He acted fast. Fire leapt from his fingertips, almost reflexive in the face of the threat. The bushes, as dry as anything could be in a forest, dry _enough_ , caught fire instantly and dropped to the ground, writhing.

Stiles watched them for ten seconds to make sure they were down, but they seemed as susceptible to fire as a normal fucking bush would have been. Then he spun around to face Derek, who was pressed close to his back, breathing hard with his eyes squeezed shut. The danger had been dealt with and they were as safe as they could be, but Stiles had known there would be consequences for his actions. He wrapped his fingers around Derek’s wrists as carefully as he could and tried to ground him the way Derek had grounded _him_ a hundred times, dragging him back from panic attacks like he’d been born to do it. By the time Derek’s breathing evened out, the flames had died down, dampened by the dewy grass, leaving only soggy-singed tree-skeletons.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Stiles whispered, leading an unsteady looking Derek out of the clearing into the cool, dark woods. The sooner they reached Preserve grounds, the better he would feel. Derek followed him quietly, correcting his course whenever Stiles deviated.

By the time they reached the carpark, Derek looked and felt a lot steadier on his feet, so Stiles let go of his wrist and watched the ring of bruises fade away before his eyes. He resisted the urge to stroke his fingers along the soft skin of Derek’s forearm, in apology for leaving bruises in the first place. “Next time,” Derek grit out, and Stiles realised, suddenly, that he was actually _furious_ , “ _warn_ me about the shit you’re going to find in the woods.”

Despite everything, despite the fact that they weren’t teenagers anymore, despite the fact that Stiles and Derek (and the rest of the pack) trusted each other with their _lives,_ Stiles was surprisingly hurt by the anger. He protested loudly, and reflexively. “I didn’t know there was anything out there! I was just out to collect Deaton’s fucking weeds!” Which wasn’t exactly true, but wasn’t exactly a lie either.

Derek paused, clearly sensing the dubious nature of his statement. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned in a truly impressive scowl, which Stiles totally didn’t deserve (this time)!

“Then why the hell did you ask me to come with you if you thought it was perfectly safe?” he demanded, and Stiles’ jaw dropped, because _no_. Derek thought he’d been invited along as a bodyguard, and he couldn’t _believe_ it, because that was just fucking _devastating_. Stiles had been under the impression that the two of them had been spending a day together, and Derek had just seen it as a— an _obligation._

Derek took his silence as damning consent and turned to walk away.

But Stiles had no brain-to-mouth filter (thankfully?) and blurted out, “Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to spend time with you?”

Derek paused, a split-second hitch in his gait. Stiles noticed it with all the attentiveness of a person who’d spent a damn lot of time watching Derek’s butt (not that anyone needed to know that). He knew Derek had heard him, but he walked away as if he hadn’t.

As Stiles got into his jeep and coaxed her into motion, he decided that this had really gone too far.

❧❧❧❧

He didn’t tell anyone what had happened in the clearing in the woods, except Deaton, because he needed to know about shit like battle-ready bushes if he was planning on sending other people to collect his magical weeds and stuff. He didn’t tell anyone _else_ because it didn’t feel right to reveal Derek’s moment of vulnerability, both in the face of the fire and in response to Stiles’ suggestion that he’d wanted Derek’s company and not his protection. No one asked him what had happened, because both he and Derek had returned to the Den smelling of wood smoke. They didn’t talk about fire if they could help it. The pack loved Derek enough that they would spare him any pain they could, and Stiles had been a fool.

❧❧❧❧

Stiles needed to change his strategy. Lydia had been right in that he needed to woo Derek, but he was probably being too blunt in his approach. There was clearly a major disconnect between what he intended and what Derek was inferring, and he had to do something about that. Derek was older than he was, older than the rest of the pack except for Peter, and he might appreciate something a little more overtly romantic, something that couldn’t be explained away as a platonic gesture of friendship. He wanted to hang out with Derek, but he didn’t want to ask Derek to hang out with him. They did that all the time, and it wasn’t extraordinary, and therein lay the fatal flaw.

It occurred to him to ask advice from people who had actually had successful, long term, _stable_ relationships. That’s what he was aiming for, so it made more sense than asking his friends, who were more-or-less just fumbling along themselves.

Lydia probably knew what was needed, because she was the most mature of them all, but Lydia also had a plan up her sleeve and a look in her eye that did not bode well for anyone. He wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole if he could help it.

Instead he went to his dad, who unhelpfully told him that he needed to be honest and open about his feelings, because no one was a mind reader (except maybe Lydia) and that emotions were tricky, hard-to-pin-down fuckers, even for the emotionally mature. Both he and Derek were emotionally retarded, and they, of all people, needed to try a little bit harder to make things clear for each other. If Stiles was planning on making the first move, he had to find a way to show Derek that he was unequivocally interested. Which Stiles had pretty much figured out himself, thanks Dad.

He considered asking Mrs. McCall for advice, but that would have been in very poor taste.

Deaton eyeballed him until he gave up and went home, and they pretended nothing had happened the next day.

And, unfortunately, that was the sum total of the actual grown up adults he knew. Except Peter, but Peter was full-on cray-cray, so Stiles didn’t think he counted.

He didn’t ask anyone else after that. The reason he kept failing was that he was getting ideas from people who weren’t interested in Derek like he was. He had to woo _Derek_ in a Stiles-specific way, and no one who wasn’t Stiles could tell him what to do to convince Derek that he was serious. And that was probably why Derek had believed he’d been invited along as security, because Stiles _rarely_ took walks of his own accord, and never into the forest unless he needed something.

Stiles had known it was going to be hard, but he’d not anticipated that there would be so much room for misunderstanding. For that, he had no one to blame but himself.

❧❧❧❧

Peter gave his unsolicited opinion regardless, at two in the morning on a weekday night. He woke Stiles up from a very nice dream (involving Derek and a lazy afternoon on the beach) by draping himself across Stiles’ bed and watching him sleep with glowing eyes.

Stiles wasn’t ashamed to admit that he _had_ screamed when he opened his eyes to the sight. Peter looked like Christmas had come several months early, even when Stiles, his heart half-way up his throat, shoved him off the bed. He was so glad when his father ran into the room with a loaded shotgun. Thankfully, he knew about the whole werewolf thing or the situation would have been _incredibly_ difficult to explain. Stiles was even _more_ glad that his father didn’t mind his full grown son sleeping in his bed every now and then. Stiles had needed the comfort, because it wasn’t every day that creepy undead werewolves snuck into his room and made themselves at home on his bed.

The next morning he found his bedroom (thankfully) unoccupied and nothing out of place except an old looking leather-bound book on the language of flowers on his pillow. It was a non-sequitur, because that just wasn’t the kind of relationship he had with Peter, but things became clear when he read the inscription inside. The first page declared, in beautiful calligraphy, that the book belonged to the Hale Library, and that… that made sense.

He immediately delved into the crinkly yellow pages, emerging only to reassure his dad that everything was alright and that he was just doing some research for the pack. It wasn’t even a lie. The book wasn’t easy reading though. It was full of weird spellings and almost indecipherable script. There were a bunch of plant names which even Google didn’t recognize, and that was _never_ a good sign.

Several hours later, Stiles concluded that Peter had only been trying to give him the idea of flowers, and he hadn’t intended Stiles to actually use the damn book. Flowers were definitely romantic, right? And friends didn’t give each other flowers unless they wanted to be more than friends. It was a sound enough theory, and it gave him a direction in which to work. Stiles carefully didn’t think about how Crazy Uncle Peter had found out about his plan to woo Derek or about why he was encouraging them, because down that path lay only madness and paranoia.

He carefully tucked the book into his own shelves and got researching. The internet was a lot more forthcoming than the book had been. He knew he would have to break up the different presents if he wanted a longer drawn-out scheme. Forcing Derek to confront his feelings with a single bouquet would result in nothing but tears (on his part). So, like with all other problems he’d ever faced, he schemed until he had a relatively tactical plan of action (seduction), and then implemented it as best he could.

He started simple, with _Pear Blossoms_ for friendship and _Gardenias_ for secret love. They had been easy enough to find and leave in Derek’s living room (with Isaac’s reluctant help). _Purple Lilacs_ were next, for the first blush of love. Stiles had tied those with a ribbon and left them on a branch of the tree outside Derek’s bedroom window (with Scott’s reluctant help). Stiles had even managed to get _Honeysuckle_ into Derek’s pillowcase himself, to represent devoted affection.

Derek _had_ to know the flowers were from him, because Stiles smelled like flowers all the time (Scott kept complaining) and because Derek wasn’t stupid. Stiles just hoped he wasn’t coming across like a massive stalker. Derek wouldn’t have had any ground to complain, considering how much of a creeper he’d been in the beginning, but this wasn’t a game. He didn’t want Derek to think he was being paid back for something.

There were a lot of flowers that meant ‘unrequited love’, so he had an assorted bouquet of _Pink Acacia_ blossoms and buttery yellow _Daffodils_ delivered to Derek one night. The flowers had been expensive out of season, but it had been worth it when he saw them in a vase on Derek’s dining table the next morning. That same evening, Stiles had hidden an apple stuffed with _Cloves_ in Derek’s cupboard, knowing it would be sniffed out soon enough. He’d been proud of that one, because the sweet smelling apples would last for ages and cloves meant undying love.

But Derek still hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t changed his behaviour towards Stiles, and it was driving him _mad_. He was patient- _ish_ , but this was getting ridiculous. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Derek to do, but he’d expected _something._ It was both disappointing and worrying, because the chances of the whole thing blowing up in his face increased exponentially as time went by, and because he’d started; he’d have to see the seduction plan through to the end.

Lydia gave him the next idea, of course, and he left two blends of loose tea in black and gold tins in Derek’s kitchen, _Chrysanthemum_ for romantic love and _Narcissus_ for unrequited love. It was subtle, but there were only so many places he could hide fresh cut flowers. He just hoped the rest of the pack wouldn’t touch the teas at the risk of facing his wrath. He felt impossibly validated when he saw Derek buying a tea infuser at Trader Joe’s, where he wasn’t stalking him, _really_.

Stiles _had_ to get _Moon Flowers_ (for dreams of love) because the symbolism was too perfect to ignore. But it was a major pain in the butt, because he knew next to _nothing_ about gardening, and even he had his limits as a researcher. He ended up sweet-talking a florist two towns over who hooked him up with someone who dealt in rare night blooming flowers. He had been half-tempted to tip his father off because the whole thing had sounded like a super-shady black market sort of thing. Still, he figured the tip-off could wait until _after_ he got his hands on the flowers, and he wasn’t disappointed. The flowers were _beautiful_ , and they smelled heavenly, and they _thankfully_ came with a laminated card of care-instructions.

He ended up fast talking his way out of trouble when Derek had confronted him in the car park of the greenhouse, worried about Stiles’ mysterious disappearances and multiple trips out of town. Stiles had felt a little guilty when he saw the stress lines around Derek’s eyes and the devastating furl of his eyebrows, but his own knee-jerk reaction to confrontation was defensiveness, so the cock-and-bull story he came up with had been almost instinctive. Derek hadn’t bought it, and he’d looked so heart-breakingly hurt that Stiles had almost spilled the beans on the surprise. But he hoped that finding the Moon Flower blooming on his porch the next full moon night would make up for it. He even baked saffron muffins to go along with the potted plant, because saffron came from _Crocuses_ and they represented youthful love.

It definitely hadn’t worked, because the next time he saw Derek, he was even more blank-faced than usual. Stiles felt himself slowly spiralling into panic and despair, because the plan wasn’t working out the way he’d intended, and he couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong. Who could misunderstand flowers? He didn’t get it at _all_. Lydia kept shooting him sympathetic glances, and it was driving him _up a wall_. He decided to give it one last shot before he gave up and moved on to the next plan.

 _Red roses_ were the easiest to find and the most clichéd. Stiles was many things, but he was not a cliché, so he decided on a double-pronged approach. Red roses, a box of chocolates and a mix-tape were as fucking unequivocal as it could possibly get. If Derek didn’t get it, he was going to find the man and hit him over the head with a fucking clue bat, because _seriously_.

The second prong to his genius plan of attack was subtler, less cliché and much more _Stiles-_ esque. After he had the roses couriered to Derek, he drove over to the Den with a red plastic bucket full of grass clippings on the seat beside him. He would have preferred a nice wooden basket or something, but he’d misjudged how long it would take him to find something appropriate; he had to make do with the pail. Taped to the side of the bucket was a printout of Walt Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass_ , because according to Wikipedia, nothing said “ _gay love_ ” like grass and poetry.

When Stiles walked into the house with the bucket in his hand, Derek was in the process of arranging the roses in a glass vase. Stiles took a breath and handed over the bucket, but suddenly all the words he’d been planning to say left his head, leaving him blank and numb. He gaped at Derek, who gaped back at him even as he accepted the bucket. They must have made a _hilarious_ picture, just the two of them standing there, slack-jawed with a bucket of grass between them.

It didn’t help that Peter (who wasn’t supposed to have been there) snorted out loud, shattering the silence. Both of them turned to face him for interrupting, Derek baffled and Stiles glaring. Peter just snorted again and then started laughing like a hyena, and he didn’t stop laughing until he was bent over wheezing with tears running from his eyes. Stiles had had just about _enough_. He still couldn’t find the words he needed to explain himself.

So he just pressed the bucket into Derek’s hands, blushing _furiously_ , and then turned around and walked out. Just before he closed the door, he heard Peter say, “This is actually the most hilariously awkward courtship I’ve _ever_ seen in my _life_.” Because of course, the whole thing couldn’t have been more embarrassing if he’d _tried_. He got into the jeep and drove until he found himself on the edge of town where he could maybe get some fucking peace.

He had gone into this thing with the hope that his feelings would be reciprocated, but maybe he had been overly optimistic. He’d always banked on bull-headed stubbornness, because it was his strongest characteristic, and most times he just tried to convince the other person that he was worth loving back, with limited success. His life didn’t work that way. He should have learned his fucking lesson after Lydia.

He’d been acting like the lack of response from Derek meant Derek didn’t understand him. But there was a full chance that Derek understood perfectly well and he just wasn’t interested in Stiles. It was a real possibility, because Derek, as messed up as he was, had a lot going for him. And the most Stiles could say about himself was that he was stubborn, and he wasn’t _as_ attention deficient as he used to be.

He had given this courtship thing his best shot. He had taken it more seriously than he’d ever taken anything with Lydia, and that was just a reflection of the depth of his feelings for Derek. But he couldn’t make Derek love him if he just didn’t. And maybe instead of waiting till Derek _hated_ him for his attentions, he should give up gracefully, so that he could maintain their friendship. That would be the mature thing to do, and he was _so_ over being a teenager.

It just sucked that it hurt so much.

❧❧❧❧

On the day of the next pack meeting, he put aside all thoughts of wooing Derek. Pack stuff was serious business. He was going to be an adult about this. Derek wasn’t interested, and Stiles wasn’t going to make him say it. He wasn’t going to force his feelings on someone who didn’t reciprocate, because that’s what he’d done with Lydia, and he’d regretted that for a long time. He wasn’t going to be that person again.

But when he reached the Den, he _knew_ something was wrong.

Stiles wasn’t early. Stiles was barely on time, but there were no cars outside the house. Even if he had been early, Isaac practically _lived_ at the Den, and it was weird for him to not be sitting on the porch with a beer. It was even weirder for Derek’s penis car to be absent, especially right before a meeting, because he _did_ live there and the car couldn’t have been anywhere else. He pulled the aluminium bat out from the back of his jeep and slung it over his shoulder, tense and ready for any attack, physical or magical.

He walked up the steps to the porch, and the front door creaked open on its own. Straight out of every horror movie _ever_. He took a deep breath and stepped through the door, braced for a potentially horrifying sight within. Instead, the house was empty as far as he could see, there was no noise or evidence of life, and that made him so _nervous._ Stiles took a step further into the house, and the door slammed shut behind him. The whole thing was just getting more and more nerve wracking, and not for the first time he wished his life was more like a rom-com than a horror movie. He didn’t even bother checking to see if the door was locked; with his luck, it would be.

And as if things couldn’t get worse, he heard the familiar reluctant rumble of his jeep as she came to life and listened as the roar of her engine faded away down the street and away from the house. He fought every instinct to run to the windows to check on his baby. No way he was going to turn his back on the empty house. His jeep was gone for the moment. He just had to keep moving forward and deal with the rest of the house now. He had already sent out a pre-written SOS text to Derek, Scott, and Lydia before he noticed a post-it stuck to the kitchen counter. He read it while he waited for replies to come in.

 _Dear Stiles_ , it read, _don’t worry – there’s nothing sinister going on. This is just mine and Boyd’s way of apologising for accidentally cock-blocking you that time at the movies. Boyd wants me to say that he doesn’t care, but we all know he does. Lydia’s helped with the spells and the rest of the pack has been expressly forbidden from interfering, because I know you, Stilinski. You are confined to the house for the next ten hours, and your paramour should be sound asleep in his bedroom. You should have seen enough porn to know where this is going – you’re welcome. Love, Catwoman_.

On the back of the page, scrawled in Lydia’s surprisingly disastrous handwriting, was a post-script. _Don’t be a dick, Stiles. You don’t need to kiss Derek or anything, just shake him awake. I’m not a total bitch._

But she was. Both of them were. And everyone else was a fucking moron for going along with it. A reply pinged on his phone, from Scott. _Sry bro. U r on ur own 4 dis 1._

He sighed, both at the content of the message and the way it had been phrased. It was a serious problem that Scott was incapable of texting like a twenty-five year old, but Stiles had bigger problems to deal with.

He had made it very clear to the rest of the pack that he didn’t need their help and that their efforts weren’t helping anyway. But he hadn’t anticipated that they’d _keep_ trying to help against his wishes. He should have. He should have known better. He was going to kill each and every one of them for this, including Scott, because a more rubbish best friend had never existed.

He climbed up to Derek’s room on the third floor, bat trailing behind him. He was suspicious by nature, and the pack was full of unpredictable crazies. He had good reason to be suspicious though. He _had_ been attacked by sentient shrubbery barely three weeks prior. No one would blame him for being wary.

Thankfully, the only person in Derek’s room was Derek, snoring gently, sprawled on his bed, tummy down, and face pressed into the pillow. Stiles closed the door behind himself, propped the bat up against the wall, and gently shook the other man awake. Derek startled, coming awake with a gasp, muscles seizing awake.

He looked up at Stiles with something approaching shock, his pupils blowing wide in a split second, and his breath visibly stuttering. He looked dazed, like he’d been drugged, and Stiles was a _horrible_ person. Derek was _beautiful_ , and so fucking touchable, and Stiles wanted to rest his hand on Derek’s sleep-warmed shoulder, but Stiles was pretty sure Derek _had_ actually been drugged, and he probably would have reacted similarly to anyone else waking him up from a magically induced nap. That look wasn’t for Stiles, and he was going to hell. He had no right to touch Derek when it hadn’t been offered.

He withdrew his hand from Derek’s shoulder. “Hey, dude.”

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was sleep-hoarse, and his nostrils flared as he instinctively took in Stiles’ scent. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles sighed, and Derek eyed the bat in the corner of the room warily, then tracked Stiles’ movement as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Derek pushed himself up off the bed, looking adorably rumpled and Stiles resisted the urge to coo, because he wasn’t stupid, and that wasn’t the way he wanted this conversation to begin.

He started with: “Erica and Lydia have locked us in,” because if Derek was going to hate him forever, he was going to drag those two under the bus with him. He could more vindictive than anyone else in the pack, and they just didn’t know it, because he’d never unleased it before. Well, no more Mr. Nice Guy Stiles. 

Derek physically tensed, and if he’d been in Alpha form, Stiles was sure his ears would have been pricking to alertness. Stiles sighed and slouched, hating the stress in Derek’s shoulders. He pulled his knees up under his chin and hugged them. “They think there’s something I need to tell you, and I guess they’re kinda right? I mean, I don’t want to, but you deserve to know, I guess.” He felt way too exposed, but despite his anger at the situation, he knew he’d let this go on for too long. He should have followed his father’s advice. Derek deserved better than Stiles’ scheming.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stalling, but also giving Derek a chance to blink awake, because Lydia’s spells tended to leave her victims drowsy and muddled. He wanted Derek to be all there when he made his confession. There were to be no more misunderstandings. Somehow Derek looked perfectly awake, and Stiles was running out of reasons to stall.

He decided to just go for it, because he wasn’t going to get out of it this time. “This is going to be horrendously awkward, but you’ve put up with me being horrendously awkward around you for years now, so you’ll just have to put up with it for a while more.” Derek frowned, and Stiles could read confusion in the furrow of his brow, but he wasn’t angry. That was good. Stiles continued. 

“I’ve, uh.” He cleared his throat, because this whole thing was harder than he’d ever imagined it would be. His stomach was rolling, and he was more nervous to face Derek than he had been of anything in a long time, and he’d faced of a group (clan? coven? murder?) of necromancers just a month before. “I’ve had feelings for you for a while,” he said, focusing on a dark spot on the hardwood floor, because he couldn’t make himself look up. He exhaled deeply, because that should have been the worst of it, but, before he’d even finished saying the words, he knew they weren’t nearly enough to convey the depth of his _feelings_ for Derek.

“And by feelings, I mean, I’ve had a crush on you for years and years, and it’s become a bit more than a crush and, uh.” He stared at the spot on the ground a little bit more, because from a certain angle it looked almost a little like a butterfly, and that was kinda cute. “I like you. A lot. In more than a teenage way.”

Derek was silent, and Stiles carried on, because he couldn’t _bear_ the thought of Derek’s silence, oppressive and upset. Also, he babbled when he panicked, and he was _definitely_ panicking. “And I’m really sorry for having been so fucking pushy, Derek. Looking back, I should have figured out earlier on that you weren’t interested, but I was just hoping—” he sighed, still not looking up. It obviously didn’t matter what he’d been hoping. He’d clearly been wrong.

“I’m just really sorry. You’re one of my best friends, second only to Scott, and I love you, Derek, in both a platonic way and in a very not platonic, romantic sort of way. And I know you love me too, just not in the way I want you to, but you don’t owe me anything, and I’m just really sorry for being such a dick. I promise it’ll never happen again.” He rushed through his apology, because even thinking about it made his stomach churn and chanced a look at Derek, peering up from under his eyelashes.

Derek, contrary to all expectations, looked _stunned_ (and not furious, yay). His jaw had dropped and his eyes were wide open. “What.” He asked, in that special way he had of not using question marks.

Stiles flinched. “Sorry?” he started again, because yeah, okay, in hindsight he must have been seriously annoying for Derek to be having this reaction. He knew he was pretty annoying as a rule, and that most of the pack were used to his weird laser-like focus, but maybe he’d really pushed the limit and overdone it with Derek. Maybe he’d screwed up even more than he’d thought.

“No, Stiles, shut up.” Stiles flinched again, because _oh God_ , this was worse than he’d ever imagined. It had been a long time since Derek had told Stiles to shut up. “What do you mean you like me?” Derek asked, and _that_ question was so far left wing that he just gaped in response. He must have looked like a fish.

Derek moved with startling speed and ended up beside Stiles on the floor before Stiles even had a chance to react, let alone move away. They ended up way too close together. Derek was radiating warmth, and his physical proximity was automatically reassuring, even though nothing about the situation was comfortable.

Stiles blinked. It was cruel of Derek to be rubbing it in, and Derek was, despite everything, not a cruel man. “I mean, I like you? And by like, I mean love? Because if I’m going to die of humiliation tonight I might as well as do it properly, and you do deserve to know, so...”

“You _love_ me?” Derek’s voice was unusually high pitched and broken, like he was a pre-pubescent teenaged boy, and Stiles couldn’t help but make eye contact, even more confused than before. It sounded like Derek was losing his cool, and that was not cool. Derek had his head screwed on tight most of the time. Even back before the pack had settled, Derek had been pretty stoic and controlled in the face of assorted _stuff_. It was down-right unsettling for him to be _panicking_.

“Yeah, Derek. I thought that was pretty obvious.” Stiles sighed and bit back the other words that wanted to follow. Derek didn’t deserve his sarcasm, not now. Something was definitely not going according to plan, but he was going to stick to his guns and go with the truth. He owed Derek the truth, and he just had to remember that he was genuinely tired of hiding it. He wasn’t used to hiding things from Derek anymore, and it was exhausting. No matter what happened now, at least the ball wouldn’t be in his court anymore. Derek still looked stunned. 

“I asked you out on a date to the movies, Derek, and on a romantic walk into the forest, which, yeah, didn’t turn out all that well. but I’d even packed a picnic, okay? And I gave you flowers and chocolate and wine, and you know me. I’m good at talking but not so good at saying anything important. You _know_ this. I didn’t know how to say stuff, so I was trying to show it. It can’t be such a surprise to you, right?” Because it wasn’t possible. There’s no way Derek hadn’t known how absolutely _gone_ Stiles was.

EVERYONE knew. The entire pack and their assorted grandparents knew (Boyd’s grandma asked after his nice boyfriend _every time_ they met). His neighbours knew. Even Chris fucking _Argent_ knew Stiles was carrying a torch for Derek Hale. Random _witches_ knew Derek was Stiles’ soft spot. For God’s sake, he’d asked every single person he could think of for advice, and _none_ of them had been the slightest bit surprised when he’d confessed to being in love with Derek! Derek could _not_ have been the last one to know. It wasn’t possible.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Derek demanded, and _that_ snapped Stiles out of whatever moroseness had descended down on him. Apparently, it _was_ possible that Derek didn’t know, and wasn’t that the worst plot twist possible? Whoever was writing his story needed to get their act together because this was getting ridiculous.

“Of course I’m not kidding!” Stiles protested anyway, before realising it had been a mostly rhetorical question. “No wait, what did _you_ think was going on?”

“Stiles, I had no idea!” Derek looked as close to nervous as Stiles had ever seen him, and something about his dramatic eye-roll was so perfectly reassuring that Stiles couldn’t help but grin. Derek looked like he wanted to wipe the look off his face. “I mean, you always smell aroused, but I wasn’t sure if it was for me or for anyone else, and yeah, you seemed upset when Erica invited herself along to the movies, but that happens all the time! I couldn’t understand why you’d be upset! And that walk in the woods, I thought you just wanted the backup, I didn’t know you were trying to make a move?”

“But I told you!” Stiles protested, because he _had_ , honestly. “Do you even _know_ what I had to do to make Deaton give me an excuse to invite you out there?” He had done _terrible_ _things_ in exchange for that favour from Deaton. _Terrible things_.

“But you’ve never needed an excuse to invite me anywhere! How don’t you know that? I’d follow you _anywhere_ , Stiles! And then you started going out with that florist! You can’t seriously expect me to believe you’ve been pining over me and going out with other people and then _lying about it_!” Derek took a deep breath, as if he’d just realised how loud they were being and how heated their argument had become. “Not that I expect you to pine over me in silence, of course, you’re free to go out with whomever you see fit, it’s just that I don’t think you like me the way you’re saying you do, and it’s not fair of you to do this to me.” His voice dwindled into something small, and quiet, and absolutely _hateful_.

Stiles couldn’t _stand_ the defeated look on Derek’s face, and his next explosion was more violent than all that had come before. “Are you completely brain dead?! I had to make friends with the florist to get the flowers! Do you know how impossible it is to find a _Moon flower_? It is like _way_ impossible, okay. And I pretty much kill all the green things that I touch, I needed a hand! And what do you mean it’s not fair?”

“So you weren’t going out with her?” Derek sounded tentatively hopeful, and Stiles was a _master_ at taking things and running with them. He was _great_ at the running part. He wasn’t wrong about the look in Derek’s eyes. Derek didn’t look like a person who didn’t return his feelings. Derek looked like a person whose wildest dreams were coming true, who didn’t know if he could believe his eyes. Stiles could sympathize. He was in somewhat of a similar situation.

“No, of course not! I’m crazy about you! Like crazy, _stupid_ in love, Derek. I don’t know what I can do or say to convince you, but I am. And it’s not like it was with Lydia, it’s so much _more_ , because we were friends first, and I hope we can still be friends even though I love you and I trust you and I care about you stupid cute face, and I just want to _kiss you_ sometimes, and—”

Derek grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him in for a kiss. It was—

Stiles wanted to say it was mind blowing. He wanted to say it was explosive and incendiary and all those things. But it wasn’t.

It was like coming home. It was familiar and warm and _perfect_ because it wasn’t showy – it just was. It was a soft press of lips, dry and chaste. The whole world went quiet except for the sound of blood roaring in his ears, and Stiles couldn’t imagine how his heart sounded to Derek, like thunder inside his rib cage probably. He forced his eyes open, because he couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t in the grips of some fever dream; he had to make sure he was actually there, actually kissing _Derek._

And Derek was right there in front of him, his eyelashes long on his still face, his sleep tousled hair soft and touchable. His hand was still fisted in Stiles’ t-shirt, holding him in place, and Stiles could almost feel the heat of Derek’s fingers on his skin. It was so devastating that it was all he could do keep breathing, until he couldn’t, not with his heart pounding and his shaky knees barely keeping him propped in his precarious position, not when he wanted to lean into Derek and take _everything_ that was on offer, but he didn’t even have the strength in his limbs to even steady himself.

Stiles pulled away with a gasp, and Derek’s eyes opened wide in shock, and he could _see_ the man tensing to flee, but Stiles moved before Derek had a chance to misunderstand anything and run away. He rocked forward, using his own momentum to push close to Derek, to press his chest against Derek’s so he could feel his heart through their skin and their t-shirts. Derek was supernaturally warm, and Stiles wanted to soak in it like a hot bath; he wanted to be completely immersed in Derek. If this was the last chance he ever got to kiss Derek…well, he wanted Derek to know exactly how he felt, and he couldn’t think of a better way to do it.

He didn’t stop kissing Derek but moved so that he was kneeling between Derek’s parted thighs, and he ended up a whole head above Derek. Stiles tangled the fingers of one hand in the soft damp hair at the back of Derek’s head, cradling it and tilting it back. Derek’s lips parted in surprise, and Stiles sank into the kiss from above, his other hand coming to rest on Derek’s neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin below his ear.

He could feel Derek’s pulse thrumming under his palm, and he shivered slightly, knowing exactly how much trust it took for Derek to allow this. But it was a trust he would never betray, and Derek had to know that. He rocked into Derek’s body and dipped his tongue into Derek’s open mouth, deepening the kiss and trusting Derek to keep them steady. Derek’s hands went around Stiles’ waist, his fingers releasing the front of his shirt and getting a grip on the back. The heat of his palms seared like brands onto Stiles’ skin. He might have moaned, but everything apart from Derek’s mouth on his was just background noise. None of it mattered.

Stiles kissed Derek with all his heart, pouring each and every drop of hunger into it, licking and sucking and biting in turn. His nails scratched desperate trails in Derek’s scalp when Derek’s hot hands slipped past his hoodie and onto bare skin. He held Derek in place and kissed him _hard_ , making the kiss dirty and wet and _intense_ , hoping that Derek would somehow understand just how much Stiles had been _aching_ for him.

Derek sighed like his heart was full when Stiles tightened the seal of their lips and sucked on his tongue, _hard_. The tiny, satisfied sound made everything else rush back into focus, and he was suddenly aware of how long they’d been kissing, of the way he couldn’t differentiate between their toothpastes anymore, of Derek’s very insistent erection pressed against his knee, and of his own pressed against Derek’s _gloriously_ hard stomach.

The kiss had become very heated, very fast, and he didn’t regret it one bit. He understood what Scott meant when he said it was like drinking from a deep well when he was dying of thirst. Derek had become essential to his existence, and the kiss had just proved it. He’d forgotten about everything, about the circumstances, about his confession, about his failed wooing attempt, _everything_. Nothing mattered except the heat of Derek’s body pressed against his.

He very _carefully_ nudged a little closer, adding just a little bit more pressure against Derek’s cock, and Derek moaned into the kiss. Stiles’ grip on his face, the hands on the back of Derek’s head and around his neck tightened, and the moan hitched on Derek’s stuttering breath. Stiles pulled back a little, withdrawing from the kiss slowly. He couldn’t make himself detach all at once, so he didn’t; he took his time to lick and suck Derek’s lips, drawing out the contact for as long as he could.

When he pulled away, finally, hands still all over Derek, they were both panting. Derek’s eyes were still closed, and Stiles felt every tense muscle in his body melt, every worry flowed out of his skin. Derek’s lips were slightly swollen and shiny with spit, and Stiles couldn’t help but lick them again, worrying his lower lip with his teeth and tasting the seam of Derek’s lips.

Derek didn’t look like a man who’d sat through an unwanted kiss. He looked like a man who’d found an oasis in the desert, and if Stiles had had the energy or inclination to find a mirror, he was sure he’d have looked the same. Once he was sure that everything was going to be okay, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Derek’s, their noses bumping between their faces, their mingled breath hot and moist on his lips.

They stayed there, pressed together for a long while. Derek interrupted the silence. “That has got to be hell on your knees,” he started, and Stiles didn’t get it until he realised he was still kneeling between Derek’s legs and pressing Derek’s face into the crook of his neck. His thighs were screaming in protest, but Derek’s lips and stubble against his neck had been too precious to interrupt, no matter the physical discomfort.

He snorted a little, and Derek nuzzled into his neck, dropping a kiss on the mole under his jaw. “It’s totally worth it.” Derek kissed him again, gently, and he shivered. It was enough to make Derek take action.

“Right,” he said, “Up.” Stiles obeyed without protest, kicking off his shoes and following Derek into his bed. Derek curled up beside him so that they were face-to-face, and drew the covers over their heads before he spoke. Stiles shuffled closer to him and slid his thigh between Derek’s legs, and draped a heavy arm around Derek’s waist, pulling him close. Derek didn’t mind and seemed to relax even further into Stiles’ embrace. “So I’d be correct to assume we’re both interested?” his tone was so neutral, he could have been asking about the weather, but his eyes gave it away; he was still nervous.

Stiles grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, we’re both interested, and we’re both idiots.”

Derek rolled his eyes but smiled back anyway. “Yeah.” Stiles kissed him again, despite the awkward tangle of their arms and legs, kissed his stupidly cute nose and his cheeks and his forehead and his gorgeously stubbled jaw, and it was like something out of his _dreams_. Derek’s lips were swollen and Stiles couldn’t imagine what _he_ looked like; his lips were tingling, and he probably looked like he’d been mauled.

After a beat of silence: “What do you mean ‘not fair’?” Stiles asked, because he was an idiot who couldn’t really keep quiet when he was comfortable and Derek would probably have to get used to that.

Derek sighed and slid his palms over Stiles’ ass, hauling him even closer with his werewolfy strength, as if to remind him that they were both still pretty hard, and that it didn’t look like a situation that would resolve itself anytime soon. “I thought you were dating that florist. It wasn’t fair of you to say you… that you loved me, if you didn’t, because I definitely do love you. And I have for a while now.”

Stiles felt his grin grow. “You’re a complete idiot. I love you, and I haven’t had a date since I realised I would never be getting over the mega crush I had on you in high school. I’d resigned myself to pining away for my unrequited love, especially when my special wooing schemes didn’t work out.”

Derek huffed, fingers squeezing reflexively, making Stiles’ hips jerk involuntarily. “You could have just turned up at my door and asked me out, you know.”

Stiles flushed, because that had totally been his plan. “I _was_ going to keep asking you out till you got it, but then I woke up with Peter in my bed one day, and he gave me the idea about flowers. And you know me, right? I made a plan, and I kinda stuck with it. I thought you knew how I felt, and you were just making me work for it.”

“Stiles, I’m so easy for you, you won’t even believe. The thing about Peter’s a little bit worrying though--” Derek pressed their foreheads together and nuzzled.

“Oh, don’t worry, my dad threatened to shoot him,” Stiles said, pretending he hadn’t been terrified in the moment. “Did you at least figure out the meanings of the flowers though? I kinda fell into a research black hole, and I _may_ have gone a little bit overboard.”

Derek grinned. “After you left me with a bucket of grass clippings like a _crazy person_ , Peter laughed for ten minutes and told me to google it. I mean, the flowers were great, but it wasn’t like I knew what any one of them were called, and they all kinda smelled like other members of the pack too, so I was a little bit confused.” Stiles moaned in defeat, because of fucking _course_ not everyone knew what different flowers were called. _Of course_ his plan had been flawed from the start. He was an _idiot_. “The red roses were the easiest to understand, but I loved the grass. If it makes you feel any better,” Derek said over Stiles’ moaning, “I gay-love you too.”

Stiles snorted, despite himself. “This is the best Christmas present _ever_.”

Derek blinked at him. “Stiles, it’s July.” His hand was still on Stiles’ ass, so he didn’t really mind.

“Semantics,” Stiles scoffed, sneakily rucking up the back of Derek’s t-shirt to touch skin, hoping that Derek didn’t protest.

“You’re an idiot.” Derek sounded so fond that Stiles couldn’t help but beam, and Derek smiled back at him, warm and sunny and absolutely _gorgeous_.

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ idiot,” Stiles said, and used his position to roll them both, so he was lying on top of Derek with his thigh between Derek’s legs. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, knowing full well how ridiculous he looked.

“Yeah, you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for actualbird for the Sterek Haven's Secret Santa Event 2014 - the prompts I chose were:  
> \- stuck in a room for a certain amount of time, and;  
> \- scheming/matchmaking friends


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